Harvest at Mustang Ridge

by Jesse Hayworth

  “I’ll do it.”

  Krista looked at her father in surprise. “Dad?”

  He nodded. “He won’t like hearing it from me, but he’ll listen. And the way I see it, a heart-to-heart is overdue. I should’ve told him a long time ago to ease up on you, that he should be grateful you care so much about this place that you’re not just thinking about how to keep it going for the next five or ten years—you’re thinking about the next five or ten generations.” He tipped his head toward the stacked pictures. “That’s what the Skyes are really about. Not the cattle, but the land, and the people who live on it.”

  Her emotions rose even higher, making it hard to breathe through a closed-down throat. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Yes, I did. But I can fix it.” He climbed to his feet, dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I’ll go find him, talk to him. Wish me luck.”

  “You don’t need any,” Big Skye’s voice growled from the doorway. “Because I’m right here.”

  He looked like hell. He was haggard and hollow-eyed, and wearing a smear of white paste on his sleeve, suggesting that Bueno had been feeling good enough to wrestle over his morning dose of drugs. Krista surged to her feet. “You should sit, Gramps. Here. Let me get you some coffee.”

  He waved her off. “You sit, girlie, because I have something to say to you.” Those faded blue eyes locked on her, then swept the room. “I’ve got something to say to all of you.”

  “It better not be that we’re too damn old,” Gran said with some asperity.

  “No. It’s that I am.”

  Krista sank into her chair, legs going shaky because here it was. She had thought they would have time to talk it through, plan it out, get a doctor involved. She wasn’t ready for this, didn’t want to hear it.

  Really, though, this wasn’t about her.

  “I’ve been forgetting things,” he said heavily. “Names, details, what I walked into a room to get. Even trails. The other day I almost didn’t make it back. Might not have if it hadn’t been for Bueno. And then yesterday I near killed him. Best horse I ever owned, and that’s the thanks I give him.”

  Ed came around the table and touched his shoulder. “Sit down, Pops. We’ll figure this out together.”

  But Big Skye shook him off. “I’m not done. Because you were right—you should’ve kicked my hiney a long time ago for how I was treating your girl. My granddaughter.”

  “Gramps—” Krista began.

  “Hush.” He stumped over, turned an empty chair to face hers, and then dropped heavily into it. Leaning forward, he searched her face, eyes so intense that she had the sudden urge to squirm. Voice cracking, he said, “I’m sorry, Krista. You were right about—about the cattle, the guests, the business. All of it.”

  Throat lumping, she managed, “It’s okay.”

  “Not even close. I wanted everything to stay the same, and when it didn’t, I took it out on you. I should’ve told you how amazing you are, and how proud I am of what you’ve made this place into.” He squeezed her fingers. “Mustang Ridge is alive because of you. It’s something wonderful because of you.”

  Krista couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe?

  He leaned in and kissed her brow, bringing the scents of cinnamon and neat’s-foot oil, and making her feel like she was eight again, and he was giving her that first short-lived pocket knife. “Thank you, Krissy,” he said gruffly. “Mustang Ridge is lucky to have you. And so am I.”

  A sob buried itself in her throat, and she launched herself into his arms. “Oh, Gramps!”

  His arms closed around her; his scent enfolded her. And suddenly it didn’t matter that his arms were thinner and his middle was softer—he was just Gramps. And she was his cowgirl. Tears broke free and tracked down—for him, for herself, for all the things that had already changed and all the things that were soon going to.

  He patted her shoulder. “I’m sorry, little girl. So sorry. I’ll do better from now on.” He said it over and over again, until the quick burst of tears dried up and she drew a shuddering breath.

  Easing away, she swiped at her face. “It’s out there now,” she said with a watery smile. “No takesies backsies.”

  “No takesies backsies,” he said solemnly, and offered her a gnarled, twisted, and oft-broken pinkie.

  She linked with him and they pinkie swore, like they had when she was little. Then she turned to her sister. “You want in on this?”

  “Nope. This one’s yours.” But Jenny slung an arm around her neck and gave her a hug and a smacking kiss on the top of her head. “You earned it.”

  Big Skye patted her knee, then rose creakily and moved around the table. “There’s one more thing that needs saying.”

  Gran looked up when he stopped by her chair, and her eyes softened. “I don’t need the words, Arthur. I know your heart.”

  “Yes, you do. But I’m going to give you the words anyway.” He crouched down, knees popping, so his eyes were level with hers. Taking her hands, he said, “I’m sorry I’ve been a beast lately. I get mad when I forget things, and I’ve been taking that out on you. That stops now. I swear it. We’re a team, Biscuit. You and me against the world.”

  Gran’s eyes filled. “Oh, Arthur.” And she flung her arms around him and pressed her lips to his.

  And, darn it, there went Krista’s tears again. But this time she didn’t wipe them away, because this was good. It was right. She didn’t know exactly what next month was going to look like for her grandparents, or next year. But whatever they were facing, they would do it together.

  *

  From high up on the hill beside the marker stones, Wyatt watched as Krista’s grandparents came down the front porch steps hand in hand, and Gran did a light-footed little shuffle of a dance while Big Skye guided her around in a wide circle.

  “Well, what do you know?” He patted Jupiter’s neck. “That’s got to be a good sign. Now, where’s our girl?” He hadn’t seen Krista leave the house, but he’d been on the ridge for only a couple of minutes. “Ah,” he said when Lucky emerged from the barn with a bridle but no saddle, and a lithe blond figure boosted herself nimbly onto his back. “There she is.”

  He didn’t know if she saw him or he’d guessed right that she would come up to the marker stones for some quiet time after the meeting, but she guided Lucky through an open gate and straight for the dirt track leading up to where he and Jupiter stood. Wyatt held his ground, heart bumping at the sight of her astride the big black gelding, moving with his motion, like the two of them were one.

  What a woman, he thought. And felt himself fall a little deeper in the hole that he was already farther down than he’d meant to go. But Sam was right—he was hooked, at least as far as he ever let himself get. And at the moment, he wasn’t struggling to get away.

  “Hey, cowboy.” She rode up beside him, controlling Lucky with a shift of weight and a touch of the reins. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “I had a feeling you might come up here.” He nudged Jupiter closer and reached over to draw his knuckles across her cheek, seeing where the tears had been. “How’d it go?”

  “It went . . .” She blew out a soft breath. “It went. Mom said the words. Alzheimer’s. Dementia. Senility. The things none of us want to think about.”

  “Ah, baby.” He slid his hand down her arm, linking their fingers. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s . . . Well, it’ll be what it is, right? He’ll see the doctors, they’ll give it a name if they can, and we’ll deal with it. Him and Gran and the rest of us, we’ll deal with it. And he apologized.” Her lips curved softly. “He said he was proud of me, of what I’ve done here.”

  A strange pressure shifted in his chest—there and gone so quickly that he might’ve thought he imagined it, except for the fullness left behind. “Good.” It came out in a husky rasp. “That’s good.”

  Something must have come through in his voice, because Lucky’s head came up a
nd her eyes sharpened on his. “Wyatt, are you okay? You look . . . odd.”

  He felt odd, with that edge-of-a-cliff feeling that used to come when he’d gotten the last twist of the bull rope wrapped around his gloved hand, then tucked his chin to his chest and gave the ground crew the nod that said, Go ahead, open the gate and start the clock. Except he wasn’t starting a clock now. Exactly the opposite. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “About?”

  “Us.”

  Her expression flattened, went wary. “Oh?”

  “Actually, I was thinking about how you’ll still be running guests through here even after the end of the official season. And especially now, with things up in the air with your grandfather . . . I was thinking I could stay on for a while longer. If you wanted me to, that is.”

  23

  Krista blinked at Wyatt while her brain did its best to catch up. Because a couple of weeks ago—heck, even a couple of days ago—she would’ve said the only thing less likely than her grandfather apologizing to her would be Wyatt wanting to stay on past the Mustang Makeover. But the look in his eyes and his grip on her hand said he meant it.

  This was real. It was happening.

  “How much past?” Were they talking about a couple of weeks, or did he have something else in mind?

  “I don’t know. A while. Eventually, I’ll have to go back down to Denver to do the heavy lifting on the APM piece. But maybe by then the guest season will be over for real, and you can come visit.” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m sure Klepto would be happy to see you.”

  “Just Klepto?”

  “And me, too.” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers in the lightest of kisses, one that reminded her of their very first, back at that long-ago waterfall. Leaning his forehead against hers, he said, “What do you think? Are you willing to throw out the expiration date and see what happens?”

  Her heart took a long, slow roll in her chest—one that reminded her of being twenty and stupid in love again. Except she wasn’t either of those things now. She was older and wiser, and she knew better than to assume she knew what he was offering. “We’re still talking about a good time here, right? No strings, no promises, just two grown-ups enjoying each other.”

  His grin widened. “Is that a yes?”

  It shouldn’t be, she knew. But if she had learned anything that morning, it was that nothing stayed the same, even if you wanted it to. And if right now was pretty darn good—the best she’d ever had—why not let it go on a little longer?

  Because it’ll hurt when it ends, she told herself. But that was already guaranteed, wasn’t it? She might not love him, but she was as close as she could get without going over that line. He challenged her, excited her, impressed her, occasionally infuriated her, made love to her, made her laugh, made her sigh . . .

  And she wasn’t ready to give that up yet. Not even close.

  So, not sure whether she was being a coward or the bravest she’d ever been, she nodded. “That’s a yes, cowboy. Let’s throw out the clock and stay on this bull as long as we’re still having fun!”

  “Yee-haw! Come here, cowgirl!” He pulled her toward him for a deep and thorough kiss.

  Senses firing, she leaned in and twined her arms around his neck, then gave a whoop when he straightened and scooped her up, sliding her off Lucky’s warm, slippery back and into his lap. “Beast!” She drummed on his chest. “You did that on purpose!”

  “Do you blame me? Seems to me this is an occasion, and an occasion calls for a grand entrance.” With that, he sent Jupiter rocking down the hill in a showy, toe-flipping canter while Lucky ran alongside, tossing his head and humping his back in a series of crowhops that looked like the equine version of wheee!

  *

  Sunday morning of the last official week of the season—where had the second half of the summer gone?—Krista took the stage at the back of the dining hall, powered up the microphone, and gave the twenty-five breakfasting guests a big, “Hello, everybody, and welcome once again to Makeover Week!”

  That got some whoops and scattered applause, and she smiled as she scanned the crowd. Joan and Sabra, sitting together in the back, were breast cancer survivors who had met in a chemo clinic and were celebrating a disease-free milestone. At a middle table, Bob had lost almost two hundred pounds over the past three years, and had always wanted to rope a cow. And in the front, sitting beside her mother, birthday-girl Claire gave a shy, gap-toothed smile and pointed to the ribbon bracelet she wore on her wrist.

  Winking at the little girl, Krista continued. “Remember yesterday how I said we’re going to have some special guests joining us throughout the week? Well, hang on to your hats—or, rather, get ready to give them up—because after our ride today, we’re offering a field trip to Bootsy’s Saddlery and Western Apparel, where Bootsy herself is going to give us some shopping tips.”

  She ran down the rest of the week’s nonriding plans—an in-house spa day, hair and makeup consults, and two-step lessons, all leading up to the Mustang Makeover on Saturday, followed by an after party back at the ranch. With the usual schedule extended by a day there was room to fit in the extras, though just barely. And with the last of Big Skye’s tests coming back negative for the scary stuff and his new doctor talking about some small dietary changes that she thought would bump his energy levels and help with his spells of confusion, it was easy for her to be upbeat.

  “But enough about what’s happening later, right? Let’s talk about the horses!” That got a second, louder cheer and a couple of whistles. As Krista launched into her Sunday-morning spiel about barn safety, boots rang on the porch and the saloon-style doors swung to let Wyatt through.

  Her heart probably didn’t actually skip a beat. But after last night it sure felt like it did—they had ridden out to the waterfall by moonlight, built a fire on the ledge, fed each other strawberries and wine, and made love in the cave. Doing her darnedest not to blush, she raised a hand in greeting.

  He touched the brim of his hat and mouthed, We’re all set.

  When heads started swiveling, she said, “Speaking of the horses, I’d like to introduce our head wrangler, Wyatt Webb. He’s a rodeo star, a stellar horseman, and an old friend, and together we’re going to do our very best to make sure each and every one of you has a fabulous week in the saddle. But first, we need your help with something. We’d like you to be our audience as we—and the fabulous Jupiter—run through our first dress rehearsal of the freestyle we’ll be doing at the fair this weekend. Are you guys game to sit in the stands and make a little noise? Then follow Wyatt out to the arena, and I’ll see you in a minute!”

  The guests made plenty of good-natured noise as they came to their feet. Most of them followed him out, but Vicki and Claire hung back.

  “Hey, you two.” Krista grinned down at the child. “And happy birthday, kiddo! A little birdie told me today is the day.” The same little birdie had arranged for there to be cake for everyone later, along with a couple of surprises that would be delivered to their cabin later this afternoon.

  Claire tucked herself behind her mom, but peered out, eyes alight.

  “All these new people have her feeling shy,” Vicky confided.

  “I’m not new people, am I?” But Krista didn’t push. It was usually better to give a spooky horse—or child—room to get curious. “It seems to me there’s someone in the barn who’s looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Marshmallow?” It was barely a whisper, but four days sooner than Krista had heard anything out of the little girl the last time.

  “Yep. He can’t wait to hang out with you this week.”

  Claire held up her bracelet with an expression that made it into a question.

  “Does he still have his ribbon? I don’t know. You’ll have to see for yourself.” Okay, that wasn’t entirely true—Krista had plaited the pink polka-dotted ribbon into the gray pony’s mane yesterday morning and double-checked it half an hour ago. But she figured the uni
verse would forgive her for the fib. To Vicki, she said, “How have you guys been?” They hadn’t had a chance to catch up yesterday.

  “Good! Things are good. Work is work, but Claire and I have been looking at barns near the house, and we may have found one that checks all the boxes on the list you gave us, so we’re hoping to start lessons for her soon. What’s new with you? Besides the new wrangler, that is. An old friend, you said?”

  “College boyfriend.”

  That got her an elbow nudge. “And current one, too, I take it.”

  Krista took a quick glance around. “Mayyybe.”

  Vicki hooted. “I knew it! That look he shot you.” She fanned herself. “Hoo, baby! And hot! Wow, I won’t mind watching that backside on the trail.”

  “Annnd I think I hear the horses calling us,” Krista said, laughing as she herded them toward the door with a bounce in her step. She had been looking forward to Makeover Week even before the summer began. Now she had a top-notch horse to ride in the big event, a skit that was shaping up to be a real showstopper, and a drop-dead gorgeous cowboy to wake up with every morning, without an expiration date in sight. What could be better?

  *

  In his workshop, Wyatt was so deep in the creative process—or in this case the uncreative process, as the dog was the only thing that looked anything like the picture in his head so far—that it took a minute for the ring of his cell phone to penetrate, another for his eyes to adjust to the unexpected name on the screen.

  He hesitated, then answered. “Hey, Ash. Happy belated birthday. Did Ma forward my card?”

  “Is that your way of asking if I’m still in LA?”

  Sigh. “No, it was my way of asking if you had fun with the hundred bucks I sent you. But, hey, since you brought it up . . . Are you still in LA?”

  “Yeah, I am.” Sullen. “And thanks for the money. It paid for some gas.”